


Up Close and Personal

by Ylevihs



Series: How Not to Fall [17]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Herald POV, M/M, POV Change, Retribution Spoilers, Suicide mention, canon typical angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 23:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19239427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylevihs/pseuds/Ylevihs
Summary: Daniel wants to see Mad Dog on his own terms.





	Up Close and Personal

**Author's Note:**

> *chucks this at you and runs*

He still relied too much on the element of surprise for a man who knew he was fighting a psychic. They would have to work more on that. Even without the way the swirl of thoughts darted, Richard could watch as the muscles in Daniel’s core tightened, stabilizing himself to control the dive. And if it was easy enough for him to pick up on, it would be easy for Them to pick up on it as well. 

Six of one, half dozen of the other. Experience and familiarity in equal measure with quick, knee-jerk feelings of _he’s gonna veer right_. Richard dodged into it, took the hit to his shoulder and threw Daniel off kilter with the movement. He let the momentum turn him enough to drive his opposite elbow into Danny’s stomach. A wheeze of pain followed by a short, hard, grunt of surprise. If It were any other person, with any other power, Richard’s instinct would be to try and throw them. Not the best course of action with a flier though. He settled for rocking back and almost landing a punch. Daniel blocked the first fist aimed at his face. Missed the second coming in low to his ribcage. His forearms dropped—dang it, Daniel—and left him open. He took the full kick to his side. At least he knew to roll with the impact, using his powers to shake off some of the force and stay aloft. Muscles bunching in the right shoulder. Eyes darting. Richard dodged the return punch aimed for his sternum and. Ah, beans. Harder than he meant it to hit. 

Not nearly as hard as he could have punched him. Enough to bruise, break the skin on the swell of his cheek but not enough to break the bone. 

And a hideous voice in the back of Richard’s head urged him to follow through. Press on. Harder. Anyone who got sent in to deal with them was not going to hold back. No such thing as ‘first blood’ ending the match. Daniel wasn’t ready to deal with something like an all-out assault by creatures who were designed not to care if they lived or died, but just to get the job done. He was still having trouble dealing with Richard during sparring. He was getting better, but progress was coming in inches. A different thought urged forward that they had time. That the deadlines he had set were arbitrary, at best, and that there was time to make sure Daniel would be safe. 

Daniel fell back out of range, cupping his cheek and rolling his jaw. The click was audible. So was the quiet profanity. After a moment he shook his head, hands recurling into fists. Richard felt the steady rise and fall and put a hand up, palm out.

Round three was over and Daniel had lost, two to one. 

He didn’t have to hit harder; the voice from earlier was being tidied away under a carpet somewhere in a back room. That could be dealt with later. If everything went according to plan, Daniel would never come into contact with anything having to do with Them. Never have a chance to get hurt by. Well. Get hurt by something besides Richard. It was tricky. Richard could feel how badly Daniel wanted to be involved. To. His heart did an impressive feat of acrobatics and jumped from his throat down into his stomach. To _help_. To keep him safe. Which was more risk than Richard was willing to take. 

Taking Herald alive would give too many people inside the Farm the warm fuzzies. The things they could do to him made up some of Richard’s newer, more disturbing nightmares. What kind of tests would they run? What limits would they push? What kind of dissections would—he pumped the brakes and brought that train of thought to a halt. Switched railroad lines and instead started down the tracks towards the equally unwanted ‘if he does get caught tortured ruined killed it’s all my fault’. 

His fault for getting too close. For falling in love. For telling the truth. For letting him know. And now, watching Daniel rub at the blood on his cheek and wince, for failing to prepare him and keep him safe. So how much preparation was too much? How much insight into his plans was just the right amount to keep Daniel satisfied and keep him from interfering and yet still not enough to make him a central target? And Daniel was becoming worried about letting him down which made every single nerve in Richard’s body start screaming bloody murder. 

The screaming got cut short by something mind warpingly more terrifying. 

“Richard?” No. “I’ve…um,” No, _no_. “Been thinking, which I guess you probably might know about,” he’d been trying to ignore it. Trying to guide Daniel’s thoughts away, gingerly and without drawing attention to oh. Please, don’t. Richard didn’t have it in him to dive in all the way and cut those thoughts out. “Would you let me see it? Your armor. Up close.” Daniel remained hovering, keeping the height advantage for all the good it did him against Richard’s glare. 

Was it a glare? It felt. Well it felt like his face was trying to excuse itself from a crowded party after making an offensive joke. Richard waited for the lift of Daniel’s eyebrows before sifting through the fluttering thoughts, letting them dip and dive around the shallow intrusion. 

Daniel didn’t have a good reason. Morbid curiosity was the dominant feature, which made Richard’s stomach roll. Followed hotly by the desire to overcome. To win against himself. Some weird and unfounded belief that if he could confront Mad Dog on his own terms, he could push back some of the niggling, back of the throat terror he still felt. Stop some of the nightmares. 

Richard pulled away. “It’s not going to help,” his mouth tasted like bitter bile and he used the taste as an excuse to look for a water bottle somewhere nearby. To keep himself from looking at Daniel. “It’ll only make things worse,” looking at the armor wasn’t going to help, he was sure of it. He’d wasted enough hours trying to break down his own panic inducing fears to know better. 

Destroying it might work. It would certainly help Richard. Seeing the things that hurt him go up in flames, laid waste to, held a certain therapeutic quality that he could always get behind. Maybe someday when he didn’t need the suit anymore they could do that together. 

If there ever was a someday for them. Something in Richard’s chest tightened. That had to be Ortega’s influence talking, the idea that there was a future for them. That there could be. 

“You don’t know that,” the nerves had gone out of Daniel’s voice and it was strong enough to get Richard to swivel his attention back to him. His shoulders were regaining their level. Face determined. Oh. “And they say that facing your fears is the best way to get over them,” 

“Who’s they?’ Richard asked, voice snide in the face of Daniel’s expression. “Most ‘theys’ I know couldn’t find their own butt with both hands,” 

Daniel ignored that. “I can handle it,” and Richard couldn’t stop the noise. Dismissive and more than a touch condescending. A pulse of low level anger. “Okay, one? Fuck you. Two: thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ve gotten used to the team treating me like I’m a kid, you know? Because I’m not some grizzled asshole or I’m too green or too soft or whatever. But you have no right to treat me like I’m too fragile,” 

“I don’t,” the protest was a half lie and didn’t make it out of his mouth, anyway.

“Yeah, you do,” Daniel was deflating. Literally sinking lower. “Sometimes,” 

“That’s…not what this is,” Richard muttered and rubbed his face until he saw stars. The line between being over protective and just protective enough was a thin one that Richard didn’t mind crossing. It had been a stroke of divine intervention that Daniel had taken him back in the first place. Bringing Mad Dog back into the picture? Sure, great idea. Why not remind Danny of all the reasons he should hate and fear and leave him? “Seeing the armor up close isn’t going to make everything I did to you better. It’s not going to make it all go away or make you suddenly stronger or,”

“I’m not a complete idiot, Richie. I don’t think that it will, but,” he let it linger in the air. A dangerous word. He wanted it to help, though. And he wanted it badly. Richard could feel how much he hated being afraid. Of anything. Of how much it felt like being tethered and restricted; being held back. 

“This is gonna end badly,” 

.

It began with a bad start, too. 

Daniel tried not to let it get to him. Tried to take deep breaths and not focus on the grind and crackle and blooming heat pain snap oh shit oh shit oh…kay. He. Was not gonna die. He hadn’t died then and he wasn’t in danger now.

He wasn’t in danger. He was in Richard’s apartment. In his bedroom. Richard’s bedroom that was, at a steady pace, becoming more and more often titled ‘Their Bedroom’ by Daniel’s brain. And bad things, he reminded himself, had not happened in their bedroom. Good, soft things happened there. This was a safe place and no one was going to get hurt there. Anything else painful and frightening had happened in some place in the past. And the distance of the past was all relative, right? Long enough and far enough away.   
Richard. Mad Dog had walked into the room and remained frozen and silent just beyond the doorway. Most likely taking in the fact that Daniel was trying not to. To. 

Maybe this was a bad idea. 

His knee ached. Dull and throbbing and Daniel felt it in more than just his leg. Felt it in the his chest where the metal of the car had dented. Pushed back. Snapped a rib. In his lungs from the smell of burning. In the muscles of his calf. And thigh. And. 

Richard could clearly feel it because the armored foot took half a step backwards. 

“Wait.” Daniel shook his head, clearing away what he could. Mad Dog was standing right there. Standing too tall and not at all the way Richard stood. Shoulders back and chest out, feet solid on the ground and every line too hard and sharp. Black and brown and red. Controlled. Dangerous. Reading like a challenge. Like a threat. Larger than life and with that same black, blank. And oh, god, when he spoke it was going to be that voice—the guttural rolling growl. The movement was slow, careful enough to grab his attention, as Richard lifted the helmet off his head. Slower still was the crouch to place it on the ground between his feet. Richard’s eyes pinned Daniel; he could feel his thoughts being stuck in place like bugs to a cork board. Stuck like. Not here. Not now. He could leave if he wanted. Lift off the bed and. He could make Richard leave if he wanted. Needed.

Richard’s face was blank. As cold and clear as the feeling of him when he dipped into Daniel’s thoughts. Watching him. Testing his reactions. 

He could do this. He was stronger than whatever was currently trying to make his legs buckle, even though he wasn’t standing. Stronger than the slick and trembling fear twisting his stomach. The thing standing in the doorway almost killed him. Could have killed him. Daniel’s body wasn’t keen on letting him forget exactly the sort of damage that figure had done to him. He forced himself to stay on the bed, to bite back against the instinct to run or throw a punch or both. 

“Being scared doesn’t make you weak,” and it was a bigger mercy than Daniel could really come to terms with that it wasn’t the voice of Mad Dog speaking to him. It was Richard. It had always been Richard and he knew that but Christ, the voice would have been too much. Too many nightmares had been just the barking laughter and the vision of Mad Dog looming over him, fists bearing down on him. Richard’s voice was softer, as if to compensate. As if to drive the memory away. “I can go,” a half turn. 

“Wait,” Daniel repeated. He could and he would do this. “Just let me,” figure this out, he didn’t say. Because the little barbs of fear were still digging into the nerves of his leg but the rest of him was trying to reconcile Richard standing there. Richard, who sang songs from the eighties at the top of his lungs in the shower and stopped to pet every dog he saw and who always sneezed three times in a row. Who was ticklish on his ribs and who had a habit of stealing little kisses when they passed each other. Who could never sit still from the pain in his hips or sleep on his back. Who was covered in markings that made him try to cut his own skin off and who lived every day believing that he was less than human. That he didn’t deserve to keep living because of those things. 

Who wanted to stop other people from going through what he went through. Who wanted to tear down the place he was from to keep anyone else from being hurt. Being tortured. To stop them from making anything else like him. Who went out of his way to make sure no one was killed and was still making his plans around the idea that nobody had to die. That if he did it just right, nobody had to lose their lives when he stripped that place to the ground. 

Who had looked at Herald and had _only_ seen _Herald_. In exactly the way all his coaches and trainers wanted the public to see him. A fresh faced hero. Flawless, save for his youthful excitement. A Golden Boy. Who had everything a man could ever want for and could do no wrong. Bright and shining and new. Handsome and heroic and beloved. Perfect for posters and calendars and merchandise. 

Richard said he’d been years out of the Farm before he’d made his debut as Mad Dog. Had he watched Herald’s progress in the Rangers? Saw the rise of a man who seemed to be born for the role. What he thought he had always wanted and was convinced he could never have because of how he was born. And had taken his chance to get out some of that bitter jealousy, some of that anger, the night of the gala. And had regretted it so much later on that it almost drove him to kill himself. 

“Richard, I,”

“Don’t,” almost pleading. Every time Daniel even came close to considering whether or not he could accept Richard’s apology, Richard himself interrupted and begged him not to. 

“I love you,” it wasn’t forgiveness. Not that Richard would ever ask for it. Ever given any indication that he felt like he deserved it. But it was something along the lines of ‘I guess I get it’. Daniel could tell by the twitch of the fingers, the deepening crease between his eyebrows, that Richard had picked up on that. Daniel didn’t press it. Instead he forced himself to stand up. Richard watched the movement like a man watching the timer on a Doomsday clock. 

“I love you, too. So much,”

The pain was just in his head, Daniel told himself. The throbbing ache was only there because he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It didn’t stop twinges of fire from popping up as he took the few steps to stand in front of the. The villain? The armor. Richard. Richard looking incredibly dist—not distant. Afraid. And trying to hide it. Pain eased itself away and Daniel recognized, dimly at first and then with a sudden clarity, that Richard had dripped a little into his mind. Just enough to wipe a cool clothe over the area. Psychic aloe to the burn. 

“So,” and to Daniel’s own personal surprise, he found his hand raising itself up to plant his palm on the center of the chest piece. It was cold to the touch. The design reminded him somewhat of medieval armor, all overlapping plates and gauntlets. Fear and discomfort still simmered away but it had been moved to a back burner for the moment. Curiosity was winning out. This armor had stood up to a lot of abuse. It was impressive. Intimidating. Richard had once told him that it had been the designer who’d insisted on the cape. “Why the name Mad Dog?” he glanced up in time to see Richard’s face falter and fail to correct itself in time.

“Oh, uh. It’s not,” he cleared his throat; shifted his weight a little back on his heels. A little further away from the Daniel’s touch. Daniel slid his hand up to touch where the cape attached. Red was certainly an interesting choice. It didn’t exactly bring to mind evil. Flashy though. “It’s a stupid name, I know. Some of the people at the farm would call us dogs. It felt a little bit like…reclaiming it? I suppose. And I’ve always liked dogs anyway and you know the whole idea of biting the hand that feeds you. Or seeing a feral dog in the street, not knowing what it might do next, if it might leave you alone or attack you or run, being unpredictable,” Richard’s face was growing pinker and Daniel recognized the expression. He’d made it himself, more than once. Having to explain the cool and edgy painting you’d done to someone who very clearly did not find it cool nor edgy and realizing how lame and stupid it sounded when put to words. “And it’s…about not following commands any more. Not blind obedience or obedience because of the fear of punishment, but choice,” 

There was something sharp on that last bit. Daniel could feel it. A little something unsaid about it mattering a great deal what those commands were and who was giving them. Silence edged in for a moment and Daniel rubbed the fabric of the cape between his fingers. 

“It’s not the worst name,” with his hand at Richard’s shoulder it was easy to just. Slide in a little closer, bumping his knuckles along Richard’s jaw. To let his fingers uncurl and cup the side of his face. Richard didn’t move a muscle, all but frozen in place by the touch. It was a gradual melt. The feel of not-quite metal on his skin as Richard brought his own hand up, convincing Daniel’s palm to stay in place so Richard could place a kiss to his palm. Warmth from his lips and from the words. 

“I’m so sorry Daniel,” a cool mist started clouding up his head. Daniel felt himself relaxing into it. 

And something else bled over in the melt. Small. Icy. Droplets of disgust and hatred and shame and regret and the urge to. Daniel jerked his hand back on instinct, as though breaking contact could break the connection. Adrenaline was suddenly pumping through his veins. He found himself a foot off of the ground, breathing hard. 

“Oh shit,” he said out loud, voice finally cooperating if a little unsteady. Head spinning, but empty of outside influence. Heart up in his throat. He took the hand that had been touched and began rubbing at it, as though he could replace the grim sensation with one of his own. 

“Aw, beans,” Richard echoed the sentiment, voice heavy with guilt. Visibly winced and shrank back and, “Are you okay?” 

Daniel felt himself nodding, still rubbing at his hand, thumb pressing hard against where Richard had kissed. No sign of Richard in his head to smooth back the bewilderment and so the sudden tension leaked out of his body like water down a clogged drain. He hadn’t felt anything like that in years. 

Well, that sucked. Being smacked upside the inside of his head with how badly the man he loved wanted to kill himself was not how he imagined the evening would go.   
He’d known, _everyone_ had known, that Richard had struggled with. Those sorts of thoughts. But Richard had claimed that they were getting better. That going to see Dr. Finch and talking about it had been helping. An unsettling realization hit Daniel that either Richard was lying about how often and how vivid his thoughts of suicide were or this really was a version that was improved upon. Daniel wasn’t sure which option was more distressing. 

Absently he shook his hand out before bringing it back up to Richard’s face. Brought the other hand up to mirror the hold and now that he was floating, it was much easier for Daniel to draw level with his gaze. 

“Richie, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Daniel threaded his fingers in through the mass of orange curls and felt a shiver. He met Richard’s gaze for a split second. It was hard to keep the other thoughts at bay but he tried to focus on how much he cared about him; how terrible it would be to lose him. 

“You’re the last person I would ever want to feel sorry for me,” Richard’s voice was small, the smile bitter, as though he didn’t really want Daniel to hear him. “I don’t deserve that,” 

“Tough luck,” Daniel darted in, quick enough that even if Richard had sensed it coming he wouldn’t be fast enough to stop it, and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “I love you. And I want to keep you around for as long as possible,”

Richard snorted weakly. “Don’t tell me you’ve been thinking about what Ortega said?” it was clearly meant to be some kind of joke to clear the air. Daniel didn’t take the bait. He _had_ been thinking about it. And he’d been careful to only think about it when he was sure Richard wouldn’t accidentally eavesdrop on those particular thoughts. During the small quiet moments when Richie was too distracted to pay attention and Daniel could imagine it. Being called his husband. Seeing a ring on his finger and a matching one on Richard’s hand. 

“Of course I have,” Daniel shot back. Richard stiffened. “Have you? I,” a wave of nervousness spread out from this chest until he could feel it in his fingers. This wasn’t how he wanted to broach this topic of conversation but if it was going to happen, he was going to go all in. “I hadn’t really ever thought about marrying anyone, before,” which was true. He’d dated some very nice girls in the past. None that had ever made him stop and think about popping the question to. “But I’ve been thinking about it now,”

“Maybe now isn’t the best time to talk about that?” Richard leaned back, out of Daniel’s hold, and gestured to himself. To the armor. It would have been grasping at straws if not for the fact that the motion made something deep in Daniel’s animal brain want to run away again. “Later?” he offered. Daniel paused for a minute to consider. 

“Later. I still want to talk about it,” Daniel said, keeping his voice firm. Serious. “But…maybe we can do that when you’re not…,” his eyes darted down and then quickly back up. Cleared his throat. 

“Right,”


End file.
